Nathan's Beginnings
by RMahoney
Summary: Before he was Nathan as we know him, he was a young Army man with love in his heart and a drive to do good. Just a story I whipped up for an assignment senior year of high school. Prequel to Nathan's religious fanaticism. No copyright infringement intended, The Poisonwood Bible and all of its characters belong to Barbara Kingsolver.


I was alone then. Well, as alone as you could be in a hospital. The nurses' shifts had just changed, and one wasn't scheduled to come to check on me for another hour at least. I usually passed the time reading, maybe playing a game of cards if one of the other patients was feeling up to it. The nurses joined in too, chuckling good-naturedly when they lost a hand. We would bet desserts, stories, anything really. We never bet money, but our collateral had its own value. I once bet my very own King James. Lucky I won that hand!

But being alone was rare. There was always someone to talk to or joke with. The nurses loved to talk. We would talk about their men, how they had volunteered for the Red Cross to feel useful. It seemed an admirable thing, volunteering to help people get better just so they had a good use for their time. You could see it in their eyes that they worried. About their patients, about the war, about the men they followed to war. They didn't know any of us from a hole in the wall, but they did know that their men could very well be any one of us. So they took care of us, made friends with us. They made me think of Orleanna. My beautiful bride, home alone. Waiting for my return. I couldn't bear to think what would have happened if I had been injured any worse. I thanked God that I still had my life. I would be able to return soon, to see my honey lamb. I would get to return to her, call her "sweet pea" and "darling" and tell her how much I loved her. I could hardly wait.

But I did have to wait, and I passed the time the best I could. When I could get up out of bed, I decided to spend some time in the small church inside the hospital. It wasn't much, but I made the best of it. I preached to those who wanted to hear it, offering counsel and assurance to those who needed it. I spoke of forgiveness, of God's love. I spoke of peace and righteousness, and how God had chosen to give us our lives. We had a social congregation, allowing anyone to speak who wished to. But I was always the most popular, likely due to my experience with preaching. People listened, and I drew quite a crowd in a matter of days. There was always someone to talk to, to debate theology with. Often conversations turned from religion to other topics, and we discussed what was waiting for us back home. Some men had nothing, others just parents. Others had whole families waiting for them. I spoke often of Orleanna, showed pictures of her in beautiful Delta cotton. We shared stories, made a community. I thought then that God smiled on me, for I was sharing His word with those who needed it, who needed the strength to return home.

Even missing sight in one eye, I could see when things went wrong. There was concern first, just anxious glances and hushed whispers between the nurses. There were rumors, ideas that we may not be safe at the hospital. The patients were kept out of the loop, left to fill in the blanks ourselves until they told us what the word was. We shrugged it off at the time, inventing wild tales to dull the edge of anxiety we felt from seeing the calm, friendly women so ruffled. They wouldn't tell us anything, always insisting that it was probably nothing.

 _Probably just a rumor_ , they told us. We trusted them.

The other men heard before I did. They were in attendance of a traveling chaplain's service at the time. I was in my room reading when they told me. I truly would have gone, but my head was bothering me some. How insignificant it seems now. A nurse came in, Maryanne was her name. She had a man out in the field. I recall talking to her, chatting absently about the war. I remember her smiling at me, a strange, strained smile. I asked her what was wrong. I wish I hadn't. Of the few regrets of my life, I regret asking that. I stared blankly at her after she told me. She apologized profusely for having to break the news to me, but I heard none of it. The room seemed to be shrinking, the air leaving. Eventually she left, leaving me to my silence and my Bible. I had always preached that God has a reason for everything. He must. All of my brothers dead, and yet I live. How many of them went to Heaven? Were they baptized? Who am I to be alive and saved when they are not? Why me? What reason had Our Father to allow me my life? Perhaps it was to preach His word. That must be my purpose. For after all, I owe him my life. Were it not by the grace of Our Lord, my death would be assured. He saved me, granted me this chance to teach His way. I must repay him. I must devote myself to him. My brothers gave their lives for Him, so that I may spread His word. They will never see their families, their loved ones, until the day they Ascend and are reunited. Their Earthly ties are broken, all for my benefit. I do not deserve this gift, the gift of life. I must earn it. I must earn His favor, teach others his ways. I must save as many souls as possible, repay the lives given so that I may live. There is no other way. He is my Shepherd. And I shall show others the way, follow the ways of God. Oh dear Lord, _Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me._ I have seen Death! I have seen pain! Suffering! I am unworthy! I shall earn His forgiveness. I shall live by His laws, follow His Commandments. I shall repent for my sins, and so shall all others. For without God, we are damned. I shall not be damned. Still I live, and still I shall save them. I shall save them all!


End file.
